


Derry, Maine, 1985

by nerigby96



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Polyamory, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 06:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerigby96/pseuds/nerigby96
Summary: The Losers Club, bar one member, have returned to the town of their childhood. After a long, frightening day, they are tired and ready for bed. But they do not want to sleep alone.





	Derry, Maine, 1985

**Author's Note:**

> 05/10/2020: currently being edited/updated

They want to stay. Their palms are sticky with fresh blood from spontaneously reopened cuts, and now new memories - of the cistern, of Bowers and Huggins and Criss, of It - have surfaced. Mike shakes his head, tells them to get some sleep. It'll come when it'll come, even if it doesn't come until the end. Their sunken eyes and haggard faces are evidence enough that they've heard all they can tonight. Almost unconsciously, Bev and Bill have gravitated towards each other, while Richie and Eddie stand together by the door. Ben is slightly separate, a small and rather wistful smile on his lips.

“You coming, Mikey?” Richie asks. He hooks an arm around Ben’s neck, pulling him closer. Ben goes willingly enough, good-naturedly grinning at Richie's awed remark that he's shrunk, Haystack, since when could you fit under there?

Mike smiles. “No, I have to lock up. And I have to write a few things down… the minutes of the meeting, if you like. Go ahead.”

Richie shrugs and moves with Ben and Eddie toward the door. Bill makes as if to leave as well, when Bev says, “Walk with us, Mike.” Her voice is low, and her eyes leave much unsaid. Mike feels something stir in the air as the other four turn to him, and he glances at Bill. Mike noticed the looks that passed between him and Bev over lunch, and later as they recounted their memories of the summer of 1958. Something instinctual told him that the two of them would be going to bed together.

And maybe that's all right. Bev, he thinks, told more than a few lies about her wonderful husband. Richie noticed, too, tensed up at every mention of this mythical marvellous man. Mike knows Bev deserves a little happiness, and if she finds that with Bill, then who is Mike to judge?

Bill, though… Mike thinks about Audra, the beautiful young actor whom Mike knows resembles Bev in many ways. This resemblance, of course, passed Bill by until Mike’s fateful phone call the other night. Perhaps the approaching adultery has not crossed Bill’s mind, or perhaps it has. Perhaps he has decided to pretend, just for one night, that he is not married, so that he can make love to his friend. Perhaps, like so many things from that summer, their making love is inevitable, imperative. If Bev is to remember everything that happened beneath Derry…

All of this passes through Mike’s mind in the instant his eyes meet Bill’s. Those bright blue beautiful eyes whose intensity captured them all as children are now soft, welcoming, inviting.

He makes up his mind.

“Okay,” is all he says, grabbing his jacket. They wait for him to lock up, and then walk slowly, almost lethargically, towards the Derry Town House.

At first, Mike walks alone, Bev and Bill ahead, Ben and Richie and Eddie behind. The redheaded couple, if they speak at all, speak quietly, their heads together, their hands brushing, but not quite daring to go any further. The others, Mike sees as he glances back, are more animated. Richie now has an arm around Eddie, who seems suddenly so much smaller; he's trembling, the hand stuffed in his pocket no doubt curled white-knuckled around his aspirator, while Richie chatters his ear off. Ben walks beside him, his fingers casually entwined with Richie’s. The contact is so light, so inconsequential, that Mike wonders whether either of them is truly aware of it.

Bev calls his name. Mike looks at her. She and Bill have stopped, waiting. He catches up and realises that they are standing outside the Town House. The others join them, and all at once they are enveloped in a warm, expectant, silent bubble. They seem to hold their breaths. Mike is not sure who starts it, but is suddenly aware that they are holding hands. Bill, Bev, Richie, Eddie, Ben, Mike – in a perfect circle… or not quite. All feel an absence, the seventh piece of the puzzle offensively, explicitly missing.

Richie sniffs; the silence is broken; and the Losers, _sans_ Stanley Uris, are crying. They drop hands. Slowly, Bill reaches up and touches Mike’s cheek. Surprised and delighted, Mike covers Bill's hand with his own. Bev goes to Eddie and holds him, lets him weep softly on her shoulder. Ben and Richie embrace. Richie buries his face in Ben’s warm neck. Bev murmurs into Eddie’s ears and kisses his temples.

Then, as one, they climb the stone steps and move through the lobby. The Town House is quiet; no one is around to see the six adults who slip into the elevator, and emerge in a group on Bill’s floor. Wordlessly, he invites them into his room. Eddie moves to switch on the light, but Ben stops him. Someone locks the door, and they all slip out of their shoes. There is a moment, in the darkness, where they listen to each other’s breathing: Bill’s low and steady; Bev’s quick, excited; Ben’s held for too long, then let out in stages; Richie’s tremulous, as if holding back laughter; Mike’s too short, not enough to calm his thudding heart; and Eddie’s quick, quick, slow, then too quick, his aspirator gripped in his hand but unused.

Bill moves first. He slips out of his shirt and then between the sheets, lying on his back. Bev follows, shedding her jacket, and curling close to Bill. Richie mumbles something, takes off his glasses, and climbs in next to Bev, lying on his right side, his face buried in her fiery locks. Mike, after a moment’s hesitation, quickly slides in on Bill’s other side, close but not too close, and reaches out for something to hold, finding Bev’s cold fingers. Ben comes next, moulding the front of his body to Mike’s back, surprising them both with how perfectly they fit together.

Eddie stands by the door, staring into the dark at the vague shapes of his friends. There is a space on the end, but Eddie is frozen, gripping his aspirator. In the darkness, he listens to the rustle of jeans against jeans, shirts against shirts, and skin against skin. Someone mutters something; someone else laughs; another hushes them both. Eddie thinks he hears a soft moan. Unable to stand it, he triggers a blast into his mouth.

Richie stirs. He half sits and turns to Eddie. “Come on,” he says. His hand – all pale skin and long fingers – emerges from the covers, awaiting Eddie’s own.

Eddie shakes his head. _It isn’t right_, he thinks. _Stan should be—_

“It’s okay, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispers, and climbs into the bed. He turns his back on Richie and lies as close to the edge as possible. At first, everything is fine. Then the bedsprings creak, and he feels Richie’s body against him. An arm holds him carefully, as if he might break; a hand finds Eddie’s hair, and lightly strokes.

Someone else reaches for him: Bev, her hand cool and gentle, rubbing a finger on the gaudy stone of his ring. "I remember," she says, wistful. "You used to wear one."

"Something out of a cereal box," Ben says, a smile in his voice.

"Captain Midnight," Richie adds, hushed and muted against the back of Eddie's neck. It's wet there; Richie sniffs and nuzzles closer.

"Man, I wanted one so bad," Mike says. "Made my mother buy Wheaties so I could get that prize. Of course, she kept on buying them after that. Didn't have the heart to tell her I thought Wheaties tasted like shit."

They laugh softly. The bed shakes, stills. Their bodies shift and settle. Ben's holding Mike's hand so fiercely it's a miracle he hasn't broken any fingers. Mike whispers to his friend something he hopes is comforting, and Ben chuckles, loosens his grip.

The Losers, _sans_ Stanley Uris, sleep together for a while.

But it cannot last.

Eddie’s eyes flicker open. He slides from Richie, who stirs but does not wake, and hurries from the room. His heart thrums. In the elevator, he takes a blast on his aspirator, and tries to calm his trembling hands.

He staggers through the doors, down the hall, and into his own room. He presses himself against the door, and then collapses on the bed.

Some time later, there is a knock at the door. Eddie blinks in the darkness and slurs: “Whozit?”

A voice replies: “Bellboy, sir. Message from your wife.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mike and Bev's lines at the beginning are taken from the novel, as are the lines between Eddie and his midnight visitor at the end.


End file.
